


Heavenly Bodies

by DarkAcey



Category: Cinderella - All Media Types, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Ballroom Dancing, Captivity, Cinderella Elements, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Gender Issues, Genderfluid, Genderqueer Character, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intersex, Magical Artifacts, Nonbinary Character, Other, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Royalty, Running Away, Secret Identity, Trust Issues, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14689950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAcey/pseuds/DarkAcey
Summary: Once upon a time, a child neither male nor female was born...This is a retelling of "All Fur," a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm that is similar to "Cinderella," but darker.





	Heavenly Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story as a final project for my German fairy tales class. We were allowed to rewrite any fairy tale to bring to the forefront some theme relating to race, gender, or sexuality. I chose "All Fur" because it included an instance of gender ambiguity and made my class have a big debate about whether or not the eventual marriage was consensual or not. (I can still go on rants about it). My goal was to emphasize questioning gender identities and explore how medieval monarchies make that complicated.
> 
> I may or may not come back to this story and flesh it out into a proper novella, but I'm posting it as it is to get feedback and ideas for where I can take it.

In a white limestone castle surrounded by golden birch and aspen trees, gossamer curtains draped over an arched window muted the sunlight filtering into the Queen’s chambers. A newborn baby’s crying rose above the splash of a rag dipping in and out of a wash bucket as a servant cleaned the King’s firstborn child. Another servant gently wiped the Queen’s brow, murmuring her congratulations like a prayer. The midwife stood at the Queen’s writing desk, mixing together herbs in a mortar from her medical bag.

The Queen barely stirred under the servant’s ministrations. Her fair skin had become pale as alabaster. Her flaxen hair almost glowed like a halo in the muted light of the room. The nursemaid fluffed and fussed over the Queen’s pillows and down blankets, as if her ministrations could quell her worry and bring color back to the Queen’s cheeks.

When the baby had been swaddled and brought to the Queen’s bedside, the Queen had managed to sit up with the help of stacked pillows, the midwife, and her medicine. The Queen’s eyes brightened at the sight of her child and she smiled weakly.

“Here is your baby, Your Highness,” the servant said, lowering the newborn into the Queen’s outstretched arms. The servant clasped her hands behind her back and shared a hesitant look with the midwife and other servant before she added, “Your baby is quite beautiful, but we can’t decide if it is a boy or girl.”

“You couldn’t tell?” the Queen asked, immediately holding her child a little closer to her chest.

The servant shook her head. The midwife stepped forward, about to explain, but the door to the Queen’s chambers burst open.

“Where is my bundle of joy?” the King exclaimed, marching past the servant outside and grinning with his arms spread out. He was dressed in a crimson and white suit embroidered with gold filigree. “Tell me, is he a perfect little prince?”

The midwife bowed her head to the King and faced him with a humorless expression. “I can’t say, Your Majesty. As I was just about to explain to your wife, your child was born with ambiguous genitalia. They have both female and male features.”

The King’s mouth dropped, mirroring the Queen’s shocked expression. “That can’t be possible!” the King said. “I can’t have an heir that is both a boy and a girl.”

“Unfortunately, that is indeed the case,” the midwife answered, pushing back a strand of grey hair back towards the tight bun at the base of her neck. “However, you need not worry.”

“Need not worry?” the King repeated, incredulous. “How is this child supposed to carry my legacy? Who would want to betroth their daughter to a malformed prince? Or accept a malformed princess’s hand?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty,” the midwife said. “However, the choice is yours to make; you may raise this child as either a son or daughter, or you may keep them hidden from the world until their adolescence favors one sex or the other.”

“I see.” The King walked to his wife’s bedside and sat down. He cradled his hand around his child’s head. The Queen wrapped her hand around his fingers, looking at him at a loss for words. Their golden rings rested against each other.

“If I may offer you some words of comfort, Your Majesty,” the midwife said, softening her prim tone, “it is said that angels are genderless. Perhaps God has graced us with a perfect soul.”

The Queen faced the midwife, taken aback. “You think?” She glanced back down at her child, eyes wide in awe. “My baby’s an angel?”

The King put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and gave her a small smile. “I will believe it. We shall treat him as a son and raise him for the monastery.” Standing once more, the King stated, “His name shall be Celeste, for he is as heavenly as my wife.”

* * *

The kingdom celebrated the birth of the royal family with colorful pennants strung between city streets and flower garlands around every window and door. Yet, within a month after the birth of their son, the Queen proved to be closer to heaven than their angelic child. She passed away quietly on a clear, moonlit night. A funeral march replaced riotous celebrations in the town square, and black cloth veiled the windows where flower garlands had just begun to wilt. The King did not leave the castle again after the Queen was buried. His grief consumed him, and not even his newborn son could console him.

The King’s advisors gave him a year to mourn, but still the King refused to change out of his dark clothes. They grew more and more worried with each of the King’s heavy sighs. The King had promised his first and only son to the monastery, so there would be no new heir to the throne unless the King took a new wife.

“Please, Your Majesty,” the King’s advisors urged him as he sat in his dimly lit throne room, “you must take a new wife.”

“I cannot.” The King stared listlessly out one of the high windows lining the walls. “My wife was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. I could never marry anyone less than her equal.”

“If we could find such a woman, will you at least consider her hand?”

The King did not turn his gaze away from the windows. “I suppose it would be my duty.” He looked sidelong back at his advisors. “I will grant you permission to seek me out a new wife. You can even look among the peasants for all I care. You will never find an equal to my beloved wife.”

Undaunted by the King’s doubts, the King’s advisors began their search. They called upon the nobility of every neighboring kingdom and sent messengers through the towns of every countryside. They paraded countless beautiful, blonde women before the King, but he waved away each one with hardly a second glance.

Years passed, and fewer and fewer women visited the castle. The King’s advisors began to doubt they would ever find the King a new wife. The King simply would not seriously consider any woman who was not the living image of his late Queen.

* * *

Meanwhile, as the King’s advisors continued their fruitless search, Celeste grew up nearly completely ignored by them and his father in the shelter of the monastery. He questioned his teachers about his ambiguous genitalia, but they assured him that it was merely a sign that he was closer to God and destined for greatness. Celeste would have been content to accept their answer if it did not also mean being bound indoors all day, forced to study the Bible and memorize prayers. Whenever he could, Celeste would shed his monastic robes and sneak out to play with the children of the nearby village. His teachers always scolded him for his sinful behavior, but they could not blame Celeste for his youthful impulses. They still had faith that he would grow into the role of a proper priest or even a prophet.

The monks’ hopes were dashed to the ground the day Celeste began his first bleeding. He had woken up in a fright upon discovering blood in his sheets, and it took a nursemaid one look at his bed to confirm the worse fear of many of the monks. Celeste was not meant to be a boy, but a girl in fact instead.

“But I don’t want to be a girl!” Celeste protested when the monks sat him down to explain what his bleeding meant. “Girls have to stay home all day and have babies.”

“You won’t have to be married,” his teacher told him. “You can live with the nuns at the convent.”

“But they live so far away!”

“They only seem far because we are the ones so far away from the castle,” his teacher said. “You will be closer to your father, the King. Wouldn’t you like to see him again?”

Celeste crossed his arms and pouted. “I guess, but what is he going to think if you make me wear dresses and grow out my hair?”

“I’m sure he will love you just the same.”

Celeste held his teacher to his word and prayed that life would not be so different. The nuns and the monks both studied the word of God. He supposed the only difference was that the nuns were allowed to play with the castle’s townsfolk, but he didn’t want to leave behind his friends at the little village near the monastery. Celeste bitterly wished nothing had happened. He didn’t understand why a little bleeding should suddenly mean he was more of a girl than a boy, but he could not convince his teachers to let him stay at the monastery.

The nuns were patient with Celeste, though both parties were strained with the arrangement. Celeste disliked being taught new rules about proper etiquette and housekeeping, so naturally the nuns struggled with their new charge. He did not like answering to “girl” or “miss,” but eventually adopted the words and became a she just as her hair grew out like a skein of golden silk.

The King had only visited Celeste once in secret, briefly after the move, melancholic as he always was. The news that his child’s sex favored female after all had been a hard blow to his honor, for it had been his decision to raise Celeste as a boy. His son only brought him shame as a woman, so he decided to keep the change secret from the rest of the kingdom. No one was to know his son had ever actually left the monastery, and the King made sure Celeste knew that too.

* * *

At the end of the summer of Celeste’s eighteenth birthday, Celeste had joined the other nuns at a water table set up between the city walls and the farm fields. The farmers had all but finished harvesting that year’s wheat, and preparations were underway for the great festival that always followed the final cut of the scythe. Celeste meanwhile was daydreaming about how she would finally be able to take part, for she and her friends had devised a perfect escape.

As Celeste ladled water into tin cups for the weary but proud farmers, she smiled demurely at their thanks and compliments.

“Why’s a pretty, young lady like you working for the convent?” one of the men asked. “Surely you can make room in your blessed heart for God and a husband.”

“You flatter me,” Celeste said, “but your words will not sway my devotion.” She passed him his cup and filled another for another farmer. Comments like his always nettled the back of her mind, as Celeste knew the farmers would not be as interested if they knew what was under her tunic. It was one of the few perks of the convent.

When the sun set and the fire braziers were lit, Celeste retired early under the pretense of heat exhaustion, stuffed her bed in the dormitory with the shape of her sleeping form, and thanked her friends for covering her absence while she was out. Though the high mothers did not approve of worldly entertainments, Celeste could count on her fellow sisters to help her indulge.

Outside, as soon as Celeste turned the corner off the convent’s street, Celeste whooped and twirled with a laugh. The eggshell blue dress one of her sisters had smuggled into the convent for her flared out around her ankles. Strands of her gold hair fell out of the bun she wore at the base of her neck. The anticipation of dancing and listening to the town’s musicians filled her with glee as she skipped to the castle’s town square. If she was lucky, she would even be able to see her father overlooking the festivities from the castle wall over the square.

People of all ages filled the cobblestones between food vendors. Towards the center in front of a bandstand, young couples and children danced arm in arm. Lively trumpets and merry lutes played to the beat of the dancers’ footsteps, drawing Celeste to the crowd as easily as the Pied Piper. She folded herself into the dance, smoothly linking arms with both men and women. None of the people standing around the dancers paid her much attention, for she appeared to seamlessly blend in with the rest of the cheerful townsfolk.

Yet following an hour into the evening, the King made his appearance at the castle wall overlooking the square. The music paused for him to insipidly congratulate the townspeople for another successful harvest. He would have returned to his seat as he had every year before, hardly paying any mind to the people below, had he not noticed a glint of bright gold hair amid the crowd.

Celeste realized she caught her father’s eye and grinned, offering him a sly wave. There was a chance he would tell the convent of her unauthorized night out, but since the King wasn’t publically supposed to know about Celeste the nun, revealing her presence would reveal that Celeste the monk was not at the monastery. All the same, Celeste almost hoped he would anyway.

It had been years since the last time Celeste laid eyes on her father, and even then, the King hadn’t looked at her because she had been in her habit and he had been addressing the crowd of another social function. Now she had his eyes, and she wished desperately that they could have been closer so Celeste could ask him why he had stayed away all of her life. The monks had told her often as a child that the King was a busy man, but the excuse holding up her hopes that her father still cared was wearing thin.

The King held Celeste’s gaze for a moment longer. The brief silence stretched between them felt like an eternity. Then he returned to his seat. The music resumed. As the dancers began spinning around the square again, Celeste noticed the King motioned over an aide. He whispered into his ear, and Celeste swore her father pointed at her before he sent off the aide again.

Celeste didn’t know what to make of their whispered words, but resumed dancing all the same. The flurry of motion and music made her feel more alive than she could remember. When she had fully wore herself out, a castle guard stepped up to her.

“Miss, I must ask you to come with me,” the guard said. “Your King requests to see you.”

Celeste nearly squealed with joy, but did her best to hold her composure. She was certain the guard had no idea why the King would want to see her. Celeste herself was still in disbelief that she not only got to see her father this evening, but would be allowed to speak with him too. “He does? Well, we certainly shouldn’t keep him waiting.” She gestured for him to go on. “Please, lead the way.”

The guard looked taken aback by her lack of concern, but nevertheless led her up the castle wall.

Celeste bowed her head deeply before the King, curtseying.

“Rise and tell me your name,” the King commanded.

Somewhat surprised that he would ask, Celeste straightened up. She assumed he must have been pretending not to know her, so she smiled and played along. “My name is Celeste, Your Majesty. Thank you for this honor to stand here before you.”

“Celeste?” The King looked intrigued for a moment, puzzling the young woman. Why should her name surprise him? “Well, you’ve given me the pleasure of your fair countenance. Has anyone told you that you are the living image of our late Queen?”

Celeste blushed. “No, Your Majesty. I must admit I have never received such high praise.”

“It is praise well-deserved,” the King said, smiling faintly, an expression so jarring to the King’s aides that their stoic features faltered in surprise. “Tell me, are you married or promised to anyone?”

Confused again, Celeste answered, “No. I am actually a sister of the convent, Your Majesty, and I must unfortunately admit that I did not have permission to attend this evening’s festivities.” Somewhat uncertainly, she gripped her fingers behind her back and added, “I had actually been hoping to catch a glimpse of you this evening, so surely you can imagine the surprise of my good fortune when I was called to actually speak with you.”

The King paled, going rigid in his chair. “I… see.” He seemed to swallow with a dry mouth. His aides looked on him with concern, unable to understand the realization that struck their King so suddenly. “Well, that is all I wished to ask,” the King said, turning his gaze to the ground. “Please return whence you came.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Celeste curtsied again and lingered a moment, wondering over her father’s shock. Had he truly not recognized her at all until now? Why would he ask if she was married?

As the guard led Celeste back down to the square, the horror of her father’s mistake struck her. The King had mistaken her for an eligible maiden. After so many years with their fruitless search, Celeste had assumed the King and his advisors had given up looking for a new Queen. Yet Celeste’s face, when all possibility seemed lost, had rekindled the King’s hope only for it to be dashed to the ground the moment the shroud of her anonymity had been yanked away.

Celeste did not stay in the castle square. She ran back to the convent, wiping her eyes as she failed to fight back tears. Her hair fell out of her bun and streamed behind her like a falling star. She had found her father’s love for only a brief moment, but it was not the love she had wished for.

When she snuck back into the dormitory and collapsed into her pillows, Celeste had no idea that evening was only the beginning of a chain of events beyond her control.

* * *

A month later, the high mothers of the convent were scandalized when they received orders from the King to bring Celeste back to the castle. She was not to wear her habit, but a cranberry red dress more fitting for a noblewoman than a young sister of the convent.

Celeste did not know what to make of this news. It pleased her to hear her father’s summons, but she worried what the fine dress was meant to mean. Was the King finally going to break the secret of her birth, and declare her as their kingdom’s princess? She could not imagine how their brief meeting could have prompted such a change of heart, but it was the only reasonable explanation she could consider.

On the day she was to leave for the castle, one of her fellow sisters helped her dress and do up her hair.

“Oh, this dress is so beautiful!” her sister said after she had laced up the back and beheld her appearance. She clasped her hands in front of her heart, grinning. “I’m so excited for you. You must have really made a good impression on the King for him to call on you again so soon after the festival.”

“Or a very bad one,” Celeste said, unable to match her smile. Though her sister had heard about her meeting with the King on the castle wall from her friends in the city, she did not know the truth of Celeste’s parentage.

“How can this be bad?” her sister asked, incredulous. “The King never _really_ stopped looking for a new wife, you know. You could become Queen if you play your cards right!”

“Heavens, no!” Celeste covered her face with her hands. “I could never be Queen!”

“Celeste, don’t be silly.” Her sister gently pulled Celeste’s hands away from her face. “You would have servants to wait on your every need, and the King isn’t that much older than you.”

“That’s not the problem…” Celeste muttered.

“Then what is? You’re always talking about how you wish you could get out of the convent. Where better to go than the castle?”

“Anywhere is better. If I marry the King, people will expect babies, and if they expect babies, I will be ruined.”

Her sister laughed. “Surely children are a small price to pay for riches. You wouldn’t even have to raise them.”

“Oh, please just stop talking about it,” Celeste said. “I will not be Queen, and you cannot convince me otherwise.”

* * *

The King met Celeste in a private meeting room with his advisors. Intricately woven tapestries of hunting scenes hung around the men seated at a long mahogany table.

“Welcome, my dear Celeste,” the King said, standing as she entered the room. His melancholic features lifted into a smile as his eyes took in her appearance. “You are lovelier today than the last time I beheld your fair appearance.”

Apprehensive, Celeste said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She glanced at his advisors, all who looked supremely uncomfortable or downright ashamed. “May I be so bold as to inquire why you have called upon me in this way?”

“My reason is quite plain.” The King stepped forward and knelt down in front of her. “Beautiful Celeste, daughter of my beloved late wife, all your life, I knew you were unlike any other person on this earth. You who was born neither male nor female, but as the living incarnation of an angel, has graced this castle with your fine form.”

Celeste’s heart caught in her throat as her father spoke, dread filling her veins like cold lead pushed down the barrel of a musket.

“By the miracle of fate, our eyes met on the night of the harvest festival,” the King said, taking Celeste’s hand. “Now that I see that you have grown into a perfect woman, I realize you were never my child, but instead a child of God. Knowing this, I ask you: will you accept my hand in marriage?”

“No!” Celeste jerked away her hand and stepped back. “You are my father. I’m not an angel.”

“Look at yourself, Celeste!” the King rose again and grabbed her shoulders. The softness of his features contorted into dismayed rage. “You must see that you are not like other women. You were destined to replace our late Queen.”

Celeste pulled herself out of his arms and ran to the other side of the table. “I’m not a replacement for my mother!”

“Cease this undignified protest.” The King stood his ground. “You may not believe me now, but I know I am right. You only need time to understand.” He straightened his coat cuffs, as if his words were meant to reassure himself more than Celeste. Turning to his advisors, the King ordered, “Take Celeste to a guest room befitting her station. She is not allowed to leave until she sees the reason in my request.”

“Father, you can’t be serious!”

“I am not your father, I am your King,” he retorted. “And you will obey me.”

“Sire, are you certain?” one of the advisors asked. “Perhaps—”

“Silence!” The King turned on his advisor. “Do as I have commanded and do not question me!”

Despite his advisors reluctance and Celeste’s protests, Celeste was forcibly taken to a guest room and locked inside.

“Please, you can’t do this!” Celeste shouted, hitting her fists against the door. “I am the King’s child! I can’t marry him!”

Yet her pleading went unheard. For three nights and three days, Celeste refused all food and drink. She hoped that her hunger strike would bring the King to his senses, yet it too passed in vain as the King had his guards force-feed her.

As days stretched into months, the King began frequently visiting Celeste outside her room. She never opened the door for him, and he was patient enough to leave it closed as he spoke through the wood dividing them.

“Celeste, my angel, please end this senseless war against my honor,” the King said. “I love you and will give you anything your heart desires so long as you accept my hand.”

“This isn’t love!” Celeste answered, sitting with her back against the door. “Let me go free if you care so much about me.”

“You know I can’t do that, my angel. The kingdom already knows of our courtship.”

“We’re not courting! Just go away!”

Each time the King eventually left, Celeste remained trembling with fear and fury that her father could demand something so sinful of her. She knew it was only a matter of time before he would lose his patience and unlock her door, enter her room rather than remain in the hallway. His gentlemanly entreating would fail under the Devil’s influence over him, and nothing would protect her from his lust.

When an entire year and a day had passed, Celeste devised a desperate plan. She told the servant who brought her breakfast that she desired an audience with the King and his advisors, and the servant returned within the morning to escort her to the King’s private meeting room.

The King smiled when she arrived. “Have you finally come to accept my hand?”

Celeste took a deep breath and exhaled to steady herself. “Yes, Your Majesty, but before I fulfill your wish, I must have three dresses: one as golden as the sun, one as silvery as the moon, and one as bright as the stars. If you must insist I am an angel, only such dresses cleverly made from the essences of the sky’s heavenly bodies should clothe me. Furthermore, I want a cloak made up of a thousand kinds of pelts and furs, and each animal in your kingdom must contribute a piece of its skin to it. Such a cloak shall prove the mastery of your kingdom and prove your worthiness for an angel’s hand in marriage.”

The King frowned at Celeste’s outlandish requests, understanding at once that she did not intend for him to be able to fulfill them. “Are there not easier items for me to procure, my angel? I can offer you pearls and precious stones from all corners of the world, fine silks from the Far East, sweet delicacies crafted by only the most skilled chefs – will none of these suffice?”

“No,” Celeste answered firmly. “I must have this cloak and these three dresses. If you cannot give me these gifts, I ask that you return me to the convent.”

The King’s frown deepened as he considered this ultimatum. “I see. So if I can’t have you, no other man will?” This fact seemed to placate him. “Very well. I will find the most skillful seamstresses in all the realm to weave these three dresses, and I will call upon my huntsmen to catch all my kingdom’s animals for this cloak. Within the year, I shall present these gifts to you.”

The King’s confidence cast doubt over Celeste’s plan, and she feared what ruin would be brought to her kingdom. She mourned for all the animals that would be killed, and dreaded what sorcery would be required to fashion such fantastic dresses.

* * *

True to his word, the King summoned Celeste to his private meeting room just before the end of the year. He had laid out the cloak on the table, displaying how the thousand kinds of pelts and furs were intricately stitched together into a monstrous, multilayered mosaic. Beside the cloak rested a single walnut and a miniature golden spinning wheel and reel.

Celeste looked aghast at the monstrous cloak, despite its undeniable exquisiteness, but felt somewhat reassured when she did not see the dresses.

“My perfect angel, I present to you your requested gifts and more,” the King said, gesturing to the table.

“I will acknowledge this cloak of a thousand furs and pelts, but what of the dresses you promised me?”

The King picked up the walnut. “The clever sorceress who wove them enchanted this nutshell to protect their ethereal qualities. Watch, and be amazed.” He opened the walnut as one would a little box and out erupted blinding light.

With his thumb and forefinger, the King plucked out a dress as golden as the sun and laid it on the table across the cloak. Its unadorned length shimmered like fire. The walnut continued glowing as the King pulled out the second dress. Rather than shimmer, its silvery, mirror-like material seemed to reflect an unseen light. Finally, the King removed the third dress, and it was the source of the walnut’s blinding light. Celeste could hardly behold it with her own eyes as its white light sparkled with every color of the sky’s heavenly bodies. Its iridescent material soon dimmed enough for her to stare without squinting, but it continued twinkling like snowfall under the light of an aurora.

“Are you satisfied now, my angel?” the King asked, grinning.

Celeste could not speak. Tears brimmed her eyes. She felt her knees might give out at any moment.

“I knew you would not be able to deny these gifts,” the King said. “I must say, you had me worried when you first made these requests, but I am rather thankful now that I had been able to create these wonders. You will look absolutely ravishing in any of these dresses on our wedding day, and I very much look forward to wearing this cloak at the altar.”

Celeste dug her nails into her palms and lowered her head. A single tear slid down her cheek. Struggling to keep her voice even, she asked barely above a whisper, “When are we to be married?”

“The wedding will be tomorrow,” the King announced, puffing up his chest. “I made all the preparations before I called you in here.”

“Oh.”

The King stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Celeste. She remained statue-still. “Fear not, my angel. As soon as we complete our vows, you will know the love I have for you is true.” After he pulled away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate gold ring. He took Celeste’s hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. “A perfect fit.” He folded his hands over her fingers. “This ring belonged to your mother. It is only right for it to grace your hand now.”

The King then gestured back to the little golden spinning wheel and the reel. “If you wish to alter any these dresses in any way before tomorrow, you may use these to fashion them however you see fit. They are the tools the sorceress used to weave the essences of the sun, moon, and stars into these fine forms.”

Celeste hardly looked at them as she let her hand fall back to her side.

As the King had no more to say, he left to attend to the final preparations of the wedding.

* * *

That night, when all of the castle had fallen fast asleep, Celeste knew she had no other choice but to run away. The King had let the servants leave her door unlocked because he believed he had won her over, so Celeste snuck down to the kitchens to pack a little bag with food. She hid inside the pockets the enchanted walnut, the miniature golden spinning wheel, and the little matching reel. She tied her mother’s wedding ring on a string around her neck, donned the cloak of a thousand furs and pelts, and blackened her face with soot to disguise herself.

The first night away had been the most terrifying ordeal of her life thus far, as she had fled to the woods to escape the guards in search of her. The King had sent every guard in the kingdom out to find her as soon as he realized she stole herself away. The town criers called day in and out for the people to look for their missing, almost-Queen.

After Celeste survived her first night in the woods, she continued traveling on in search of a town that would not know her name. Yet at the gates of every one, she heard town criers shouting about her King’s missing betrothed, and thus could not enter. She quickly finished off the pitiful rations she had packed. At first she had tried to subsist on only the wild nuts and berries she could gather while she walked, but soon found she needed to hunt too in order to survive. It had been hard for a while, killing other creatures to sustain herself, but practice taught her how to end their lives mercifully.

Autumn eventually gave way to winter, but Celeste was not afraid. She had become more animal than human, for the ghosts of a thousand animals had imparted their wisdom and strength through their furs and transformed Celeste into a new kind of creature. Celeste the animal did not mind this change, as being an animal spared it from its painful human memories. It didn’t need to remember the nostalgia of its time spent as a little boy or its bittersweet memories of its time as a young woman. It gave up wanting to return to human towns.

Celeste burrowed into the hollow of a tree to hibernate through the winter. The snow piled over its cloak, but the cold could not chill it. When spring returned, Celeste continued sleeping soundly even as crocus bloomed around the roots of her tree. It might have even continued sleeping until summer had the lord of this forest not come along with his hunting party. He was a tall man with olive skin and hair brown as fertile earth.

When the dogs came upon Celeste’s tree, they started to sniff and run around it and bark.

“What’s this?” the lord said, pulling the reigns on his horse. “Let’s see what kind of beast has hidden itself there.” He dismounted and dropped to the ground.

“My lord, please be careful,” his lead huntsman said, quickly following him. “The dogs may not have woken it yet, but it may still awake soon.”

The lord laughed. “Don’t worry.” He patted the sword at his hip. “A bite of live steel will deter whatever base intentions it may have.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put so much faith in your sword.”

“Oh, hush.” The lord picked up a stick and prodded the beast nestled in the tree hollow. “What an amazing creature. It looks like its skin is made from a thousand different kinds of fur.”

At his prodding, Celeste suddenly woke and jerked upright. It bared its teeth at the lord and his huntsman before it realized it was facing humans and not beasts.

“A boy?” the lord exclaimed in surprise. Then his brow furrowed when he noticed the creature’s chest. “No, a woman?” He pointed the stick at Celeste. “What are you, all-furred creature?”

Celeste narrowed its eyes at the lord and his huntsman. “What I am has no consequence,” it growled, “for I have been forsaken by my father and mother.” Its nose twitched as it caught a whiff of the fresh bread the lord had packed in his saddlebag, and the old yearning for human companionship rekindled in the creature’s poor heart. “Please have pity on me and take me with you.”

“What an odd creature you are, All-Fur,” the lord said, bemused. “I think you’ll be perfect for the kitchen. Come with us, and you can sweep the ashes there. They’ve been wanting another helping hand for a while now.”

Celeste agreed to this arrangement and rode on the hunting party’s wagon. As they left the woods, the lord said, “My name’s Demetrius, by the way.” He pointed to a castle whose walls stood behind a lake surrounded by pine trees. The reflection of clouds upon the water made the castle and the small town at the edge of the water appear to be floating in the sky. “That’s where I live, and soon it will be your home too.”

The sight heartened and worried Celeste, but its fears faded away as soon as it realized the town criers did not call its name here. This was a kingdom where Celeste could remain hidden.

* * *

“When I said I wanted help, I meant a proper maid!” the cook complained when Lord Demetrius brought him Celeste. “This feral creature can’t possibly be of any use to me.”

“Nonsense, have pity for the poor thing,” Demetrius said, gesturing to Celeste as it sat on its haunches. It had one ear tipped towards their conversation as it took in the sights and smells of the disorderly kitchen. “It was living all alone in the woods, forsaken by its father and mother. Surely you can make space for its bed in the corner?”

“If it can clear the space itself, I suppose it can stay,” the cook grumbled.

Left in the cook’s care, Celeste went to work. It had taken Celeste nearly the whole afternoon to become comfortable standing upright like a human again, but it fought against the cloak’s instincts as it pushed around barrels of apples, potatoes, dried lentils, and other provisions. It swept the floor and scrubbed the floor, and by the time it was done, the kitchen had never looked cleaner. The grime covering Celeste’s hands and feet had even been washed away, leaving only its face still masked by dirt.

Little by little as Celeste continued living in the cook’s kitchens, the cook grudgingly grew fond of the creature called All-Fur. He gave it better second-hand blankets for its bed in the corner near the oven and even began letting All-Fur help him prepare meals. It never once let any of its hairs from its cloak fall into the cooking pot, which pleased the cook, and he found to his surprise that it was particularly skilled at making stew.

Eventually, in the following winter, Lord Demetrius announced that he would host a series of three balls following the start of the New Year. Celeste overheard the cook while he talked to another servant that Demetrius’ father had talked his son into hosting these balls because he wanted his son to find a wife before the return of spring, but both the cook and the servant believed such an outcome was unlikely. They all knew Demetrius loved hunting more than wooing. Some servants even whispered amongst themselves that their lord actually fancied men more than women, and that he hadn’t seriously pursued any courtships yet because of it.

Celeste gave little thought to these rumors. The lord’s affairs weren’t its business, and it had little interest in courtship either after its father’s attempt. However, it could not deny its budding desire to go to the balls. It had been so long since the last time it had been able to listen to music and dance. The thought of twirling on the ballroom floor sent its heart fluttering, and Celeste couldn’t help but pretend to waltz with its broom.

On the night of the ball, Celeste made up its mind. It would finally shed its cloak and don one of the heavenly dresses it had kept all this time, as it had no other clothes suitable for such a fancy event. However, since it still feared deep in its heart that its father would discover it again, Celeste knew it could not reveal its true identity. So, when the time came, it went to the cook and asked, “May I go upstairs and watch for a while? I’ll stand just outside the door.”

“Yes,” said the cook. “Go ahead, but be back in half an hour. You’ve still got work here to do.”

Delighted, Celeste thanked the cook and rushed outside to the well. It shed its cloak, washed the soot from its face, and became once more a beautiful maiden. She opened up the walnut shell and carefully reached into its enchanted depths to pull out the dress that shimmered like the sun. The fine material slipped over her body and felt like daylight on her skin, warm as the afternoon despite the chill of winter. Her long, golden hair fell down her back and perfectly matched the splendor of her dress. Her transformation complete, Celeste hurried upstairs to the ball.

* * *

Meanwhile, Demetrius had wandered away from his throne in the ballroom to join his lead huntsman, the same man who had been with him when they discovered the creature they called All-Fur. They stood near the wall, watching the dancers glide across the dancefloor as they would pheasants in underbrush.

“How about that woman over there?” his huntsman asked, pointing to one of the many ladies with powdered faces and massive hoop skirts.

“I wouldn’t be able to reach her hip past all of that dress,” Demetrius said, rolling his eyes.

“All right, then what about—My God, what a beautiful woman!”

“Hm?” Demetrius looked sidelong in the direction of his huntsman’s gaze and his breath faltered at the sight of a young woman in a fiery, golden dress. She had folded herself into the throng of dancers, and her dress appeared to flare with embers each time she spun. “Wow. Looks like summer just crashed the party.”

“Sire, you must ask her for a dance,” his huntsman said. “It would be a glaring insult if you did not at least introduce yourself.”

“An insult to her or you?” Demetrius asked with a smirk. “You don’t need to me to find out her name.”

“Sire, please,” his huntsman said, giving his lord a long-suffering look. “She is surely much too high above my station. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh, fine.” Demetrius laughed. “I’ll bring her over here for you.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Demetrius ignored his huntsman’s protest as he went to go meet the strange woman.

* * *

Celeste was breathless by the end of the first dance. She hadn’t expected to enjoy herself so much, given that her only previous dancing experience was with her sisters at the convent and with commoners at the harvest festival. She was lucky that the first dance had everyone switch partners frequently throughout the song, so she hadn’t even had to introduce herself to anyone yet. She hoped she would be able to remain anonymous until the end of the next song, when she planned to slip back away to the kitchen.

Celeste’s hope was for naught, however, as she spotted Lord Demetrius making his way over to her. Immediately panic gripped her, as she feared he would attempt to court her just like her father. She knew she would not be able to escape again if she fell into his clutches. Though it pained her heart to leave the ballroom after only one dance, Celeste hurried to escape.

Lord Demetrius beat her to the exit. “Leaving so soon?” he asked. “The evening’s barely begun.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I cannot stay,” Celeste said. “I am needed elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Demetrius said, and he appeared to be genuinely sympathetic. “I wanted to introduce you to my friend over there. He finds you very beautiful, and I believe he would really rather appreciate a dance with you, even if he won’t admit it.”

This news gave Celeste pause. “You weren’t going to ask me for a dance?”

Demetrius laughed at her confusion. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on it, but I will offer my hand if you so wish for it.”

“Oh.” Celeste felt at a loss, for she hadn’t imagined the lord would still be as kind to her now as he had been when they met in the woods. His expression was as open and honest as the wheat fields of her former home, his green eyes welcoming like the forest in which she had found refuge. “Well, I suppose I have time for one more dance,” she said, allowing the lord to take her hand. Though worry still nettled her, it could not keep her from the dancefloor.

When the next song began, the dancers cleared away to give Demetrius and his mysterious partner space. They glided around the ballroom, appearing like the essences of fire and wood in a dangerous game. Guests whispered excitedly behind their hands, wondering if their lord had finally found a woman he fancied.

At the end of the dance, Celeste laughed. “That was so much fun. I didn’t think you would be so good at dancing.”

“Why ever not? I’m a lord,” Demetrius said, feigning offence. “Dancing was part of my education.” He then leaned forward with an inquisitive grin. “What about you? Where did you learn to dance so well, miss? I don’t believe I caught your name yet either.”

Caught off-guard, Celeste answered, “Uh, well, I’m from a very far away kingdom. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“I doubt that. I studied geography too.” Demetrius’ grin softened into a look of sympathy at her growing unease. “You don’t need to run away, you know,” he said more quietly. “I don’t mind party crashers.”

Celeste blushed and she felt butterflies tremble in her chest at that. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, I assure you.” Demetrius pointed to his huntsman, who had remained standing by the wall through their dance. “Why don’t we go join my friend and we can talk about this far away kingdom you hail from? If you don’t want to talk, at least allow him a dance as well.”

The lord’s offer sorely tempted Celeste, but she was still mindful of the fact that the cook expected her back in the kitchen soon. Her time limit, and the threat of her father discovering her if she revealed her identity to Demetrius, forced Celeste to step away from the lord. “As much as I wish I could stay, I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

Before Demetrius could try to persuade her otherwise, Celeste hurried out of the ballroom. He tried to follow her, but to his dismay, she managed to disappear around the corner.

Demetrius returned to his huntsman’s side with a sigh.

“Why did you let her escape?” his huntsman asked. “You seemed to be enjoying her company so much.”

“I know!” Demetrius said, holding out his hands. “I tried to catch her, but it was like the night itself snuffed her out.”

His huntsman frowned at the exit. “A pity. Let’s hope she returns for the next ball.”

* * *

When Celeste returned to the well outside the kitchen, she put the dress as golden as the sun back into the walnut shell and put back on the cloak of a thousand furs and pelts. It did not feel as comfortable as it once did, shrouding Celeste again with the weight of so many animal spirits, but Celeste still rubbed its face with soot and became All-Fur once more.

“Did you like the dancers?” the cook asked when Celeste came back into the kitchen.

“Yes, sir,” Celeste answered, picking up the broom to resume its work. “I am glad I got to see them.” Yet Celeste did not quite know if that was entirely true, for it was now filled with bittersweet longing for the young lord. It would never be able to dance with him again, for it knew it that if it did, it would not be able to keep its secrets from him. And if Demetrius knew that it had promised its hand to its father and was now nothing more than a poor creature living in the corner of his kitchens, how he would ever want to look at it again?

Yet in spite of all of Celeste’s admonishing to itself, Celeste could not deny the allure of the next ball. It still wanted to dance, even if it couldn’t dance with Demetrius. The only problem was that even if Celeste wore a different dress, it knew that Demetrius would recognize it. Could it find another way to disguise itself?

The answer came to Celeste the week before the ball as it scrubbed the kitchen floor. Its hair kept falling into its face while it worked, and when it thought of how it would be much easier to work if it simply cut off all its hair, it realized it could go to the ball as a boy. Celeste couldn’t believe it didn’t think of it sooner. It still had the sorceress’ enchanted spinning wheel and reel, so it could fashion one of the dresses into a suit. The only question then was how to use the magical objects.

That night, when the cook had gone off to bed, Celeste took out its materials. It didn’t want to wear the dress as golden as the sun again, even if it could alter it, and so it pulled out the dress as silvery as the moon. Celeste hadn’t the faintest idea how to use the little gold spinning wheel and reel, since it knew such tools were meant to spin thread, not cut cloth or stitch it back together. As it held each tool in each of its hands and thought of what tools it would need, the golden objects suddenly transformed into just the tools it needed.

Amazed, Celeste thanked its luck and went to work. When it finished, the sun was rising. It had used some of the sun’s essence from the golden dress to add bright buttons and gold embroidery along the hems of its magnificent new suit. Celeste also used the sorceress’ enchanted tools to cut its hair short like a man. Changing the reel into a hand mirror, it grinned at its new haircut. Celeste wanted to continue admiring all of its work for the rest of the day, but it had to quickly put away its new suit and pull back up the hood of its cloak before the cook came down to bake the daily bread.

If the cook noticed the extra spring in Celeste’s step as they both worked, he didn’t comment on it.

* * *

On the night of the second ball, Celeste once again asked the cook to let it watch the dancers. Like before, the cook allowed it, but Celeste still had to return within half an hour.

Celeste hurried outside to shed its cloak, wash its face, and change into its new suit. The clothes felt very different from the dresses Celeste had been used to, but Celeste supposed that was because the silky fabric was cut in such a way as to mask his feminine shape. He prayed that he remembered enough about being a boy that he could pass for a gentleman. The one part of being a man that Celeste was most thankful of now was that he wouldn’t have to worry about other men asking to dance with him. He would have the power to choose whoever he wanted to dance with, and the realization made him giddy with excitement.

* * *

After all the expected guests had arrived and Demetrius formally commenced the ball, he went to join his huntsman again by the wall to watch the door for the arrival of woman who embodied summer.

“Sire, you should try to enjoy yourself rather than wait for this stranger to appear again,” his huntsman said, giving his lord a concerned look. “I can come find you if I see her.”

“Hmph.” Demetrius leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “What fun is dancing with two-faced nobles? At least this summer woman has more interesting secrets than most of this lot.”

“Do you intend to bank all of our hopes on this woman then?”

Demetrius raised an eyebrow at his huntsman. “If it will make my father lay off me, sure. If she never returns, I’ll have a perfect excuse to never get married.” He turned his gaze back to the dancers. “You know how I feel about women.”

His huntsman sighed. “You cannot put off finding a wife forever.”

“Want to bet on that?” Demetrius said, smiling wryly.

“No, not particularly.”

The lord and his huntsman remained quiet for a time after that, listening to the music. Demetrius almost didn’t notice when a young lad in a shining, silvery suit and bright gold hair snuck into the ballroom. The lord got off the wall and stared, perplexed, as the boy walked to the edge of the dancefloor.

“Well, what do we have here?” Demetrius said to himself, bemused. The boy watched the dancers, appearing to want to join, but was too shy to ask any woman to dance with him. Demetrius found it ridiculous endearing, as if he was looking at a lost puppy. “Not the party crasher we were looking for, but certainly still interesting.”

“Do you think he’s related to the summer woman?” his huntsman asked, easily spotting the boy. “His clothes seem just as ethereal as hers were.”

“I don’t know,” Demetrius said with a mischievous glint to his eye, “but I intend to find out.”

His huntsman’s shoulders sunk. “Why do I not like that look?”

Demetrius laughed. “What look?” he asked, already walking away. “I’m just going to ask him for a dance.”

“Good Lord, please don’t,” his huntsman implored him. “Think of what your father would say.”

“I already am and I’m ignoring it.”

His huntsman face-palmed.

* * *

Celeste didn’t notice Demetrius sneaking up on him as he was trying to work up the courage to ask one of the women to dance. He had his eye on a young lady who reminded him of one of his friends at the convent, and so he had hoped dancing with her would be easier than dancing with one of the older women. Yet despite his mental reassurances to himself, he could not get over the fear that his voice would sound too high, or that she would see his facial features as better suited for a woman than a man. It was only when the woman Celeste was watching turned his way and looked surprised at someone behind him that Celeste looked over his shoulder and saw Demetrius heading towards him.

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Celeste immediately turned away again and prayed that Demetrius was going to talk to someone else. The lord had no reason to talk to him, Celeste reasoned, unless he noticed he wasn’t on the guest list. The realization that Demetrius probably did filled him with dread.

“Good evening,” Demetrius said, and Celeste mentally cringed. “I couldn’t help but notice your late arrival.”

Celeste reluctantly turned to face the young lord, but held up his hand to hide his face as he pretended to scratch an itch on his eyebrow. “Yes, well, uh… my carriage was held up, so…”

Demetrius recoiled at the sound of the boy’s voice, for he knew at once it was the same as the summer woman. It took him another moment to realize that the boy and the woman were one and the same, and that she had merely cut her hair. “My God, it’s you!”

Celeste blushed in panic, turning away again. “No it’s not! I have no idea what you mean.”

As Celeste tried to make a break for it, Demetrius said, “Hey, hold up!” He ran around to cut off the boy. Or was he still actually a woman? The question baffled him. “Who _are_ you?”

“I’m no one,” Celeste said, still avoiding Demetrius’ gaze. He held his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“What? No, don’t be preposterous. You don’t have to be scared.” Demetrius bent down to try to better see the stranger’s face. “You just surprised me, is all.”

Celeste hesitantly looked up at Demetrius. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course not,” Demetrius said. “I’m just confused. Are you some kind of elvish creature?”

Celeste shook his head. “No, I’m human, same as you. Or similar enough, I guess. I’m not an elf or an angel or any other fairy creature.”

“Then what of your clothes?” Demetrius asked. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“They were made by a sorceress,” Celeste answered. “I’ll not say why I have them.”

“Amazing.” Demetrius rolled back his shoulders, regarding the boy as he would some kind of arcane text. “It must sound rude of me to ask, but I must ask all the same: are you a boy or a girl?”

Celeste bit his lip. “I don’t know. I was raised as a boy for the first thirteen years of my life, but I was told I was supposed to be a girl after I came of age. I haven’t thought of myself as either way for quite some time now.”

“How so?” Demetrius asked, but his question then reminded him of the all-furred creature he had found in the forest. He had asked it the same thing. “Wait, are you also the creature that has been sweeping the ashes in the kitchen all this time?” With the idea now in his head, he could see the resemblance between the boy before him and the creature he named All-Fur.

In a tiny voice, Celeste answered, “Yes.”

“My God, you’ve been living there all this time when you can become such a handsome thing?” Demetrius asked, thunderstruck. “You should be sleeping in feather beds, not rags on the floor.”

Celeste’s blush deepened. “Your praise is too much, my lord.”

“Hardly. You are a marvel,” Demetrius said. “Please, tell me your story. I’ll give you your own room in my castle if you would just tell me how you came to be in my forest.”

“I can’t,” Celeste said. “I’m sorry. The cook is waiting for me to return, so I must really be going now.”

“Oh, the cook can piss off.” Demetrius waved away Celeste’s concern. “You don’t need to work in the kitchens anymore.”

“Maybe not, but I would still prefer to return there,” Celeste said, tightening his hands around his arms. “Please, my lord. I was happy enough before you discovered me.”

Demetrius seemed to deflate somewhat at that, for he realized he inadvertently overstepped some line he did not understand. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please don’t tell anyone about me.” Celeste hesitated a moment. “There is someone who I do not ever wish to see again, and I don’t want him to find me.”

This information greatly concerned Demetrius, but he answered simply, “Very well, All-Fur. I will keep your secrets. But you should know that I will want to talk to you again after tonight.”

Celeste frowned. “I see. Thank you.”

After they bid each other good evening, Demetrius watched Celeste leave the ballroom once more. He returned to his huntsman with a pensive expression.

“What was all that about?” his huntsman asked. “It looked like you scared the living daylights out of him.”

“I don’t quite understand yet myself,” Demetrius answered.

“Does that mean he does know the summer woman?”

Demetrius chucked. “In a way, yes.”

His huntsman’s eyebrows knotted together. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I cannot say; my lips are sealed.” He gave his huntsman a smug smile.

“What?” his huntsman asked, indignant. “Why can’t you tell me?”

Demetrius leaned back against the wall and folded his hands against the back of his neck. “I promised, that’s why.”

* * *

As soon as Celeste returned outside the kitchen, he debated briefly putting back on his cloak and simply fleeing back into the forest. He had no idea if Demetrius would actually keep his secret or not. The forest was the only other place he could remain safe from his father if Demetrius broke his promise. Yet if Celeste fled, he knew he would not be able to become fully animal again. He had regained too much of his humanity already just by going out for these two nights.

Deciding to play it by ear, Celeste once again hid his magical clothes and pulled the cloak back over his shoulders. He darkened his face again with soot, but it felt more like a mask than part of his skin now. He went back to work with the cook, but could hardly make himself speak to him, aside from answering basic questions. Celeste had no idea anymore who he was supposed to be: man, woman, animal, or angel. None of them felt like they fit, so he stuck with the one he knew first and last.

* * *

The day following the ball, Celeste had gone out to gather firewood from the woodpile outside the kitchen when Demetrius snuck up on him again.

“Good morning, All-Fur,” he called, causing Celeste to flinch so badly that he dropped the wood he had gathered into the snow. “Oh, sorry. Let me help you with that.”

“No, I got it, my lord,” Celeste said, frazzled as he tried to quickly pick back up the logs he dropped.

Demetrius smiled as he picked up one of the logs before Celeste could get it. Passing it over to him, he asked, “Are you always this clumsy?”

“No, I am usually perfectly well coordinated, thank you.” Celeste snatched back the proffered log and set it atop his armload. “If you will please excuse me, I have a lot of work still to do.”

“Can’t you ask the cook for a break?”

“I see no reason why I should.” Celeste began walking to go back inside.

“Even though the lord you serve is clearly wishing for your company?” Demetrius asked, quirking up his eyebrow.

Celeste blushed. He hadn’t expected Demetrius to be so insistent so soon. Hoping to deter him, he said, “The cook needs these logs to make lunch for both you and the rest of your servants. So, unless you want cold soup, you ought to leave me be.”

Demetrius laughed. “I suppose I can’t argue with that logic. Be careful not to singe that fur of yours.”

Celeste scowled. “I’ve never burned my cloak.”

“I’m sure, but there is no harm in an innocent reminder.”

“Innocent? You’re mocking me.”

“I only mean to be teasing,” Demetrius said somewhat sheepishly with a shrug.

The lord’s expression flustered Celeste. “Well, stop it,” he said lamely.

“As you wish.” Demetrius gave Celeste a little bow before leaving, making Celeste’s heart flutter.

“That certainly wasn’t proper behavior for a man of his rank,” Celeste muttered to himself, though he knew his backtalk should not have stood unchallenged either. Demetrius had a bothersome knack for making Celeste feel simultaneously timid and brash. “Of all the lords I had to end up serving, why did it have to be such an odd fool?”

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Celeste saw little of Demetrius, but plenty of signs of his meddling. New blankets and pillows had been added to his bed in the corner, and small treats like candy and lace ribbons appeared there whenever Celeste wasn’t looking. Demetrius had also left Celeste notes, first asking if he could read, and then snippets of poetry and book recommendations from his library, trying to tempt him to visit him there. It would have been altogether infuriating if Celeste hadn’t found it so endearing.

When Celeste found yet another poem in his bed, his resolve to continue avoiding Demetrius melted. He had didn’t know what the lord wanted from him. If it was just answers he wanted, Celeste figured he could oblige that much. But if Demetrius was seriously intent on courting him, Celeste couldn’t fathom why he would be interested. Yes, he could dress up as a beautiful woman, but Demetrius knew he could also be a man or a furry creature. Furthermore, Celeste couldn’t see himself living the rest of his life as a woman. He liked being a boy too much, even though he wasn’t very good at it.

After Celeste got permission from the cook to take off work for the rest of the afternoon, he made his way up to Demetrius’ library. It took him quite a while to find it, as he hadn’t really had a chance to fully explore the castle yet, but eventually Celeste quietly stepped inside. He found Demetrius reading by the fire, lounging on a pile of pillows he had stacked against the couch’s armrest.

Thinking to get back at Demetrius for starting him twice so much, Celeste snuck up behind him and shouted, “Boo!”

Demetrius recoiled. “Jesus Christ.” He put down his book and looked behind himself as Celeste laughed. A grin broke across his face. “All-Fur, you came!”

“Well, I couldn’t just keep ignoring you,” Celeste said, suddenly feeling quite shy again. “I was going to have nowhere to sleep if I kept letting fill up my bed with sweets.”

“Do you like them?” Demetrius swung his legs off the couch to properly face Celeste.

“Yes,” Celeste admitted, blushing. “I had no idea candy could have so many flavors.”

“I’m glad.” He gestured to the side chair near his couch. “Please, sit with me.”

“But… my fur. And I’m still so dirty,” Celeste said, looking at his squalid clothes. He had only washed his hands before he came to see Demetrius, as he couldn’t very well wash off the soot on his face without the cook noticing. “I don’t want to soil your furniture.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing a little dusting won’t take care of once you leave.”

“If you say so,” Celeste said uncertainly. He perched on the edge of the side chair and nervously held his knees.

“So,” Demetrius said, sitting back down on the couch. “Can I get you to talk about this mysterious person you’ve ran away from? I would very much like to help you if I can.”

Celeste shook his head. “I doubt there would be very much you can do if he found out I was here. He is more powerful than you.”

“More powerful than a lord?” Demetrius raised his eyebrows. “That sounds serious. Can you at least tell me why he wants to find you? You haven’t done anything wrong like kill anyone, have you?”

“Heavens, no.” Celeste bit his lip. “I have done nothing but look exactly like my mother.” Haltingly, Celeste explained the nature of his birth and his father’s obsession with marrying him. He began crying towards the end of his story, unable to hold back the tears that he had kept bottled up for so long. They ran down his face, making pale stripes in the soot covering his cheeks. Celeste wiped off more soot as he tried to wipe away his tears.

Demetrius had grown quiet as Celeste spoke, and he let Celeste cry without comment. As Celeste began to calm down again, he said, “I cannot imagine how your father managed to delude himself like this, and I likewise know I cannot fully comprehend all of the suffering you have endured. Though my father hasn’t understood my wishes either, our disagreements can’t compare to yours. Nevertheless, I must say, you have my infinite sympathy and utmost respect.”

“Thank you,” Celeste said, sniffling. “Now you understand why I can’t leave the kitchen.”

“Yes, but there must be a better way for you to live,” Demetrius said. “I have to admit that I am very much fond of you. If we were to be married, your father would have no more claim over you.”

“But I don’t want to be your wife.” Celeste gripped his hands against his legs. “I’d rather be a boy than a woman.”

Demetrius reddened slightly. “That’s actually not a problem for me.”

Celeste sat up, surprised. “It’s not?”

“No. That is where the disagreements with my father stem from,” Demetrius said, looking away. “I am more attracted to men than women. Naturally, because I have no brothers to carry on my father’s name, that’s a problem. But with you…” He shrugged, unsure where to take the thought.

Celeste didn’t know what to do with it either. He knew Demetrius certainly couldn’t marry another man. It would bring more dishonor to his family than simply letting his family name die out. But if he married a man that could also be a woman? Celeste had no idea what people would think.

“I won’t make you marry me,” Demetrius eventually said. “It’s much too soon for that to even be a serious consideration. But I am leaving that option for you nevertheless because I doubt I will find anyone else as acceptable. You could be my wife in name only – in every other regard you could dress as a man and I could have all of my castle staff address you as ‘sir.’”

Celeste wondered if such an arrangement would work. The idea of living entirely as a man except in title seemed appealing, yet not quite a perfect fit for him either. It felt too much like it would be denying half of his identity.

“What if everyone just agreed that I am not a man or woman, but just a person?” Celeste asked. “I’ve lived as either one long enough that I don’t want to have to pick.”

“How would that work? It’s hard to understand anything beyond just ‘he’ or ‘she.’”

“I don’t know. Maybe I could be a ‘they’ instead, because I’m both?”  
“‘They,’ huh?” Demetrius considered that for a moment. “It might take a while to catch on, but I don’t see why not.”

“I could make up my own titles too, like miss-sir or something.”

Demetrius laughed. “I imagine those would get silly very quickly.” An idea occurred to him then. “How about we try it out? At the next ball, fashion your third dress into something that’s a mix between a dress and a suit. I can formally announce you as my date for the evening and tell everyone to refer to you as ‘they’ or ‘them.’”

Celeste blanched at the thought. “You would really do that? But what would everyone think of you?”

“I know plenty of them already whisper about my preferences,” Demetrius said. “What my guests think doesn’t matter. And even though I’ll probably get some choice words from my father when he hears about it, I can just tell him it’s a compromise.” He grinned. “So, what do you say?”

“I don’t know…” Celeste chewed his lip. “If we do this, my father will definitely hear about it.”

“Well, I’ll tell him to piss off if he tries to throw his weight around in my land,” Demetrius said. “You said he’s kept how you were born a secret, and for all his kingdom knows, he was only courting a regular nun. I don’t imagine he would still want to marry a person that wants to be both.”

“I guess.” Celeste weighed the risks for another minute. “I suppose I’ll try it then. I don’t know how I’ll make the dress look good for a man and a woman, but I’ll just have to experiment and find out.”

“That’s the spirit!”

* * *

In the rest of the weeks following up to the third ball, Celeste spent many a night tinkering with the design of their dress. They wanted it to be beautiful, yet not too lovely. Dignified, yet not too standoffish. They were trying to strike a balance between feminine and masculine, and each tip of the scale always seemed to leer too far to one side or the other.

Celeste continued visiting with Demetrius as well whenever they had a spare moment. The two of them talked about the more pleasant aspects of their childhoods and their favorite fairytales. Though Demetrius still insisted that Celeste could move into their own room, Celeste was still content to sleep and work in the kitchen. They still had a soft spot for the old cook, and until Demetrius could hire a new helping hand for him, it didn’t seem right to Celeste to abandon their work.

On the day before the ball, Demetrius and Celeste broke the news to the old cook that Celeste would be Demetrius’ date. The cook had been flabbergasted, but could not his lord’s request that Celeste spend the entire evening with him.

Finally, on the night of the ball, Celeste donned the final version of their outfit. The top looked more similar to a suit coat than a bodice, but it hugged their body to accentuate the subtle curve of their waist. Rather than coattails, the back of their coat flared out into the back of a multilayered skirt that framed their pants. Their entire outfit glimmered as bright as the stars, iridescent and almost as inconceivable as the person who stood proudly in it.

Celeste felt nervous as they walked with Demetrius through the ballroom to his throne. They felt every eye in the room gawking at them, and they held Demetrius’ arm a little tighter.

After Demetrius made his formal announcement, awkward applause followed. His guests clearly didn’t know what to make of his date, but Celeste was thankful to see that at least a couple of them were hesitantly willing to give them a chance. It was all the reassurance Celeste needed to know they had picked the right path for their self. They would never need to wear their cloak of a thousand furs and pelts again.

The best part of the ball was being able to dance with Demetrius all night. They twirled across the dancefloor, a pair as perfect as the starry night shining on the snow covered pine trees outside the castle.


End file.
